She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. Nor, he would wager, had the heroic Monsieur Valade, who had rescued her from that life and brought her to England, taught her in that short time all that Gerald was certain she knew of men. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. ” She realized it was possible to be sorry for him—acutely sorry for the situation. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. “In private.
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